


deadly games to play late at night

by Tat_Tat



Category: Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Begging, Dom/sub, F/M, Fear Play, Femdom, Forced Cold Shower, Hand Jobs, Knifeplay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Punishment, Total Power Exchange, in the middle of the night, tfw your girlfriend sneaks into your apartment, the most domestic I can see them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tat_Tat/pseuds/Tat_Tat
Summary: He let her come and go like a cat.He let her do what she wanted, just as he was now, submitting, letting her graze the knife under his chin.Ada pays Leon a late night visit.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Ada Wong
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [militarypenguin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/militarypenguin/gifts).



> Based on a dream militarypenguin shared. 
> 
> Tunes:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0T7JoHe0Ofld6HfxDcUc5u?si=RsRIKH9XSsmPGJPTMUkx8A

Leon knew it was Ada before the cold of the knife made contact with his bare throat. He remembered the smell of azaleas on her skin from the last time they were together, in similar circumstances. It had always been consensual, except for the first time.

The first time she pressed a knife to his neck it was a threat, when he was a rookie and they’d only just met. The second time she'd meant it in an endearing way, though she hadn’t asked him at all how he’d feel about that. Good for both of them, pure luck that he melted in her arms then, just as he did now. 

He never knew when she’d show up; he didn’t have her number (though he was sure she had his). There were nights just like this one, where he would wake up to her perched on top of him in bed, or wake up to her slithering under the covers beside him before reaching for his cock.

The nights he liked best were the ones where he discovered her in his kitchen in full evening dress with the plates set and take-out dinner on the table, a bottle of wine chilling. Her glass would always already be filled, as if she was impatient for him to arrive.

Her visits were always short, dinner half-eaten or him in bed left wanting after she’d edged him with no release in the end.

He knew sometimes it was because she was busy or maintaining her cover. Mostly, he knew Ada was afraid of getting close. He didn’t let it get to him-- he kept himself busy. He let her come and go like a cat.

He let her do what she wanted, just as he was now, submitting, letting her graze the knife under his chin. 

“I just sharpened this, Leon. You don’t want to move,” she said.

He stiffened at that but quickly relaxed as the knife moved like a serpent down his throat, shoulders and arms. When Ada pulled it away, she blew away the arm hairs that collected on the blade, scattering them like dandelions in the lamplight.

The gesture was a show of how sharp the knife was, so much that there was no resistance when the blade passed over his arms. He knew that when he woke up in the morning that there would be a bald patch from wrist to elbow. Something to remember her by. He hoped she left more lasting marks. But like her visits, anything she left behind was ephemeral. She cut him before, but never enough to scar.

He hoped she cut him.

He wanted her to cut him.

But it wasn't his choice to make. His chest warmed, thinking, knowing this. A longing took him, but he was forced to hold it in his throat.

He didn't know what she would do. He swallowed hard, sweat beading. He anticipated without knowing what. He watched her face for a facial expression that could betray her intent, but her face was impassive. The hairs on his other arm stood on end. He felt the warmth in his chest deepen.

All he could manage to say, eventually, was her name, and she finally smiled at that, cupping his cheek with one hand and pressing the flat of the knife to his other cheek. It was a contradictory gesture, the crux of what he craved. The sharp and soft side of her, like a blade wrapped in silk.

He closed his eyes when she told him to and the knife made its trek up and down his body. He was already naked-- he never slept with clothes on, not after she had told him not to. On cooler nights he had considered disregarding the order-- her visit was not always guaranteed-- but he shivered then, thinking about what she’d do if she found him willfully disobedient and clothed in bed. 

He’d rather turn the heat up than face that.

“Good boy, Leon,” she purred, running the tip of the knife along his inner thigh, dangerously close to his cock. His entire body was still except for his cock, twitching towards the warmth of her hand. Narrowly, she purposely missed his cock with the cool kiss of the knife. She remarked on it and his face grew hot.

Finally, he begged, “Please.”

“Please what?” she goaded.

He silently whimpered, shoulders bunched up, as if he could make himself smaller, but he was bigger than her and he couldn't hide anything. She could see exactly what he wanted. She saw the want reflected in his eyes, in how his body subtly shifted towards her. She smiled because this was the version of Leon she got to keep. That no one else got to see.

“All mine,” she cooed, watching him sink into that praise like a touch on the cheek, like a kiss on the lips.

“Yours,” he confirmed, his body relaxing a little. She fixed that, affixing the knife to his throat again as she tipped his head up by the chin. In one slow motion she dragged the knife across his throat-- unbeknownst to him, the dull side-- and smirked, watching him crumble and fall deeper into the bed, gasping. His fingers ghosted over his throat. The panic on his face faded as he raised his gaze to her. It was fucked up that he looked at her with full adoration after what she had done. It was fucked up that it only made him want her more.

But it made complete sense to them in this space they made together. The gesture was more than a game, more than a quick rush of adrenaline. It was a reminder of her control over him and their trust in each other.

He put his arms over his head just like she wanted. There were restraints hidden under the bed but she didn't reach for them. There was no need. It was another test as she stroked his cock with the knife to his throat. He strained under the predicament, resisting the urge to move with her touch against his basest need for survival. He could move, but he shouldn’t, so he didn't. The only safe movement was to sink deeper into the covers. He was even afraid to swallow the lump in his throat. In the back of his mind he wondered if this will be the night they slip up-- he’ll move sharply or she’ll lose her grip and the knife will embed into his throat-- but he quickly pushed that thought away the moment he could feel it bloom into anxiety instead of the much preferred adrenaline rush.

He decided to trust her again. There was something alluring in the moments it was a conscious, calculated choice, just as much as when it came naturally from conditioning.

She only stopped stroking his cock to lift her hand to his mouth and tell him to clean the pre-cum from the space between thumb and forefinger. Then she smiled, praised him, and continued. All the while the knife was an unrelenting reminder. 

He could feel himself about to come. Like a fire kindling, the warmth spread through his body. He wanted to chase that sensation but resisted, and in that resistance, paradoxically he inched closer to the edge. 

“A-Ada!”

“Not yet.” 

He groaned, frustrated, cock twitching. He almost forgot the knife pointed at him and moved too much. The pinprick righted him and he became still, his orgasm lost. His mind spiraled and for a moment she stopped touching, stopped threatening him with the knife, pressing her weight on top of his chest until his breathing slowed.

She wiped a damp lock of hair from his eyes and he could tell she was listening to his breathing and the beat of his heart.

She didn't ask if he was ready or if he wanted to continue. They had played this game so long that she could read those cues. He was pliant, not still. If he was still, then she’d worry. He was still a little hard, but they both knew it would take little to get him worked up again. He gasped when she touched him again and within the space of a breath he was begging her to let him come.

She shifted her weight to press her face against his neck, slick with sweat. Her command was so quiet that if he wasn’t completely attuned to her voice he’d have missed it: “Come for me.”

He bucked his hips up, groaning as he released into her hand. The room spun. When he heard the shower he realized he had fallen straight asleep. He could see her silhouette from where he’s laying, and the red dress she had been wearing was crumpled up in the laundry basket, a haphazard streak of cum along the hem. She wouldn't scold him for the mess, only expect him to take it to the dry cleaners for her.. 

It was morning, but still impenetrably dark. He got up to make the most of the little time she’ll allow them to have and to make her a pot of coffee.


	2. Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains punishment (not to be confused with FUNishment!!) followed by aftercare. 
> 
> Un-beta'd at the moment. Proceed with caution.

Leon knew better but he had just moved up north in the middle of a harsh winter. His body normally ran hot, so when he was offered this transfer he was looking forward to the brisk Colorado air. He figured he’d finally get some sleep without sweating through his sheets- that turned out to be true but now he was too cold at night, shivering instead.

It didn’t help that he slept naked- Ada’s rule.

In his lapse of judgement, willfully disobeying, he had trouble finding something comfortable to sleep in. For years he had no reason to buy pajamas. 

He had settled on a pair of joggers and the thermal shirt he was already wearing. He had hesitated climbing into bed with clothes on. He was a good boy- Ada’s words. ‘A boy scout’ People usually called him, jovially patting him on the shoulder. 

He wasn’t normally a rule breaker.

But he wasn’t sure he could sleep naked when it was this cold and there was no guarantee that Ada would show. 

Except of course she did. 

He murmured contentedly at her touch at first brush but then Ada’s hand stopped suddenly or Leon remembered that he was wearing clothes and his heart stilled.

“Leon.” She said, quiet in the dark. “What is this?”

It wasn’t a question, more an accusation. Leon found himself shrinking under the covers. He wanted to bury himself there. He couldn’t bring himself to answer, it was pointless! He was caught.

And he was very very guilty.

He opted to apologize profusely. He thought about explaining how cold it was but as his eyes adjusted to the dark he noticed Ada was wearing a short skirt. 

He often wondered how she could wear what most other women called ‘impractical clothing’ on the field. And he’d never seen her in anything else. Oftentimes he liked to imagine her in something more comfortable like his T-shirt or silk pajamas. Those fantasies also included cuddling on the couch or some other cozy pocket of the mundane. Just fantasies. He and Ada were close- he suspected most time he was her only friend- but she still kept her distance. 

Her impeccable, immaculate state of dress was a reflection of that.

“I know you feel bad about it.” Ada said mildly, as if to soften the blow. “So let’s get this over with quickly.”

Before Leon could react, she grabbed him by his hair and led him to the bathroom.

Then, she ordered him to step into the shower. He was reluctant, but more than that he was fearful and obedient. He could guess what she had planned and knew it could get worse.

Now standing in the shower he asked: “Aren’t you going to tell me to strip?”

“No.” Ada said and turned on the tap.The flood of ice cold water rained down on Leon and sent him reeling to the other end of the shower. His instincts told him to run from the seering sensation. His thought process was as simple as that, and yet he stayed in the shower. For Ada, and for himself. To leave would be a forfeit of the power dynamic, because what was even the point of rules if he could break them without consequences? He needed to know Ada could go there, just as much as she needed to know he would accept it. 

They both needed to know that they both cared.

Ada lifted the [detachable] shower head from the wall and thrust it in front of him. When he turned away, huddling in a corner, she took him by his hair again and held his head up while he got a cold spray of water right in the face.

The entire ordeal was only two minutes long (she later told him) but it had felt like an hour. He was exhausted, both panting and gasping for breath and shaking all over. His clothes and hair clung uncomfortably to his body. He was eager to take his clothes off when Ada finally gave him permission to. And he was grateful when she turned on a gentle stream of warm water.

She sat on the toilet seat (with the lid down) while he silently bathed. When he turned off the tap and stepped out she was there to towel him off.

He relished in her warmth and attention and although she didn’t change into a comfortable T-shirt, she did cuddle with him on the couch, stroking his damp hair and praising him until all the pieces came back together.


End file.
